


First Stitch

by scribefindegil



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Crying About Craft Supplies, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Knitting, Post-Finale, Pure Unadulterated Fluff, Sea Grunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7576543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribefindegil/pseuds/scribefindegil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan seems uncharacteristically nervous to watch the twins open their latest care package.</p>
<p>Utter, utter fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Stitch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a "crying about craft supplies" prompt on Tumblr; the request was Stans and knitting supplies.

“Look what came today!” Mabel sang to the webcam, hefting a large cardboard box into view.

“We wanted to wait so you could watch us open it,” Dipper added.

“Yeah! For warm fuzzies reasons and in case it’s another cursed relic you need to help us exorcise!”

“I promise,” Ford replied, “There’s absolutely nothing cursed about this package. Look! I didn’t even need to ward it!”

“You said you didn’t need to ward the one two boxes ago and that almost got us tried for witchcraft,” Dipper pointed out. “I know you’re still getting used to the rules in this dimension, but the postal service is threatening to cut us off.”

Ford laughed. “If they do, we’ll just have to find a new way of delivering mail. I know Fiddleford was thinking about repurposing that Pterodactyltron . . .”

Mabel pursed her lips. “I don’t know about that. Waddles had a traumatic experience with a pterodactyl once. I think he might get upset if one came around here, even if Mr. McGucket did take out the laser cannons. He wouldn’t be able to tell that it was a nice one that was bringing us presents instead of the old meanie-face that you saved him from!”

She turned to the one member of the family who hadn’t said anything yet. He was sitting stiffly with his shoulders hunched up to his ears, looking down at his lap instead of at the camera. “Grunkle Stan, are you okay?”

Stan grunted. “Look, this was a bad idea, just . . . yeah, totally cursed package, shouldn’t open it, why don’t you just get rid of the thing and—”

“Stanley,” Ford chided gently, a smile playing around his lips. “It’s fine. Go ahead, kids.”

Intrigued, Mabel took her second-favorite pair of scissors and slit the tape along the top and sides of the package.

“Oooh,” she said as they pried open the lid, “Packing peanuts. My favorite!”

She excavated the two smaller parcels wrapped in brown newsprint and string, then poured the remaining packing material over Dipper’s head. He flicked a packing peanut directly onto her nose, and she giggled.

“Does it matter who gets which thing?” Dipper asked.

Stan who had slid down further in his chair and pulled his hat down to his ears, mumbled something inaudible.

“No,” Ford translated.

Mabel shrugged and pulled open the string on the parcel closest to her. It rustled softly as she opened it. Inside, folded carefully, was a scarf. It was deep midnight blue and the yarn was soft when she stroked it. She unfolded it on the table in front of her.

Mabel had been knitting for most of her life, and she could tell that the scarf had been made by a beginner. The tension was uneven, giving it an odd trapezoidal shape. One edge began in stockinet stitch for a few rows, while the rest was in garter stitch. She could see at least one dropped stitch that she’d have to anchor.

Beside her, Dipper unrolled another scarf—the same yarn and the same workmanship, but in deep, mossy green.

Mabel looked up, her eyes shining. “Grunkle Stan . . . did you _make_ these?”

Stan looked like he was about to bolt from the table. Ford was holding his hand, possibly to prevent exactly that outcome.

“Well, ah,” Stan said, scratching worriedly at the back of his neck, “I know the yarn’s too good to be wasted on a knucklehead like me, so you can unravel ‘em and make something better.”

Mabel gasped, appalled. “Grunkle Stan! I’d never unravel these! They’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t really cold enough for it, but she wrapped the scarf around her neck and snuggled into it.

“I love it!”

“Yeah,” Dipper added, putting his own scarf on. “Mabel tried to teach me to knit once and it was a total disaster! I’m really impressed.”

Ford turned to Stan with his biggest, smuggest, I-told-you-so smile.

“If you want to keep knitting, I can give you some pointers—” Mabel began, but Stan had turned and fled offscreen.

“Just a moment,” said Ford. “It looks like my brother’s managed to get . . .” He paused, listening to something the younger twins couldn’t hear. “. . . Seawater . . . in his eye. Again.”

He leaned forwards conspiratorially. “He’s been worrying about this for weeks. Almost didn’t send them because he was afraid you’d laugh.”

Mabel did laugh at that. “Well, tell him,” she raised her voice, “ONCE HE GETS THE SEAWATER OUT OF HIS EYE! That I think they’re amazing. And that he’s a silly-face.”

Ford stood up, rolling his eyes, to try to drag Stan back to the call.

Mabel smiled and sunk deeper into the scarf. The uneven stitches tickled her face. It felt like love.


End file.
